Fresh Wounds
by AmazonAuthor
Summary: Roy raised his hand. His thumb slid across his middle finger, creating the first snap of fire. The flames hissed and glided across her skin. Riza choked out a whimper, the pain being far greater than she expected.
1. Chapter 1

Fresh Wounds

* * *

The sun was setting. The scattering of oranges and reds could not be seen. She had drawn the curtains. Light, however, still found a way in. It leaked out of the edges of the window, overflowing onto the walls and wooden floor. Riza stood there, eyes locked in a solemn stare with the small beams. She was calm. She closed her eyes and listened. The clock ticked. The sink dripped. Roy was breathing slow, uneasy breaths.

"It's okay," she whispered.

He leaned against the door, watching her frame from across the room. His eyes trailed down her body, from her blonde, choppy hair to the black shoes she was wearing. One by one, she slipped them off onto the rug. Perhaps, it made her more comfortable. Roy looked down at his own shoes.

"Colonel," she began. "It's okay."

He took a step toward her, the weight of the situation suffocating him. She had been asking him to do it ever since they returned home. Now, here in her living room, he felt trapped. Colonel Mustang came to stand in front of her sofa. There was still time. He could lead her there to sit down, and take her hands in his. He could try to talk some sense into her.

"You don't have to do this."

"I do."

"Hawkeye, please."

"Remember what I said to you? In Ishval? No one else will suffer by my hand."

The Colonel took another step. "It was by my hand."

"Then I can prevent it from never happening again."

He looked away. "And if I refuse you?"

"I'll find a way to do it myself." Her voice was bitter. "I trust you, sir. Please relieve me of this burden."

Tenderly, Riza unbuttoned her shirt, allowing it to slide down her shoulders and onto the floor. She felt the cool air of the room kiss her exposed skin. Instinctively, she crossed her arms.

Roy's eyes widened. There it was, laid out before him on the smooth canvas of her skin. Berthold's legacy, etched into her back. He studied it. The layout was familiar; his teacher had drilled the script into his head. The old words were arranged in an intricate, geometric pattern. The small amount of light casted a shadow over it all. All her father's research; to be destroyed in a matter of seconds.

His attention was not only drawn to the inking, but her body proved to be a rare itself. Roy had never seen the expanse of her skin like this before; so raw, but pure. She was pale, light a white flower blooming before him. Her body had matured since they were young ones. He was met with the strong back of a young woman, not that of the girl who greeted him every time he came by for a lesson. And that very thought seared his heart a little more.

"Are you sure?" he asked again.

Riza nodded, her fingernails digging into the backs of her arms. She closed her eyes and waited.

His hand trembled. Was he really capable of doing this?

"Colonel, please."

She was pleading with him. He could not let her down.

Roy raised his hand. His thumb slid across his middle finger, creating the first snap of fire. The flames hissed and glided across her skin. Riza choked out a whimper, the pain being far greater than she expected. She faltered a bit, but regained her footing. Her flesh sizzled. He had only removed a small fraction of the tattoo.

"Hawkeye, I—"

"I'm fine. P-please continue."

Her breaths were ragged. She panted, trying to cope with grueling sensation. Tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to trail down her face. Roy gritted his teeth and snapped again.

She screamed. The heat was more intense this time, digging into several layers of her flesh. She braced herself on the window sill. Light illuminated the fresh wound. Crimson flowed out of it and down the crease of her spine.

"Again!" she commanded. It wasn't enough. There was still more.

A third time, he snapped. Heat flooded the air. The fire stripped the skin along her left shoulder, all the way to the middle of her back. She collapsed on her knees, fingers scratching the floor boards. Her shriek of agony pierced his ears.

He could no longer bear it. "Enough."

She sobbed.

Roy fell to his knees. Anger welled up inside of him. He tore of the crisp, white gloves. They were soiled to him, tainted by the anguish of one he cared so much for. His fists hit the ground.

"Damn it!"

Riza shuddered. He crawled over to her, slowly. His eyes, darker than ever, roamed over her backside. He had done it. Pieces of the puzzle were scorched, burned, removed. Her beautiful skin, damaged by his hand. Her body heaved. The sight of her, the smell of her flesh made his stomach turn.

"C-Colonel," she whispered.

"No more," he said. "I can't do this to you again."

She braced herself on her elbows, pushing her weight off the floor. He gently gripped the sides of her arms, pulling her up with him. His palms collided with her cold sweat.

"Let go."

He gripped her tighter. "No."

The tears didn't stop. He picked up her shirt off the ground and handed it to her. She took it, holding it to her chest to cover her breasts. The Colonel turned her around to face him. He searched her face for any sign of hatred, any look of disgust or retaliation.

Nothing.

When he looked into her amber eyes, there was only relief. Gingerly, he brushed her bangs out of her face.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Riza shook her head. "You don't have to apologize. I asked for this."

"You didn't ask for this to be carved into your back." His voice grew angry. "You didn't ask to carry this around. And now look, look what I've done to you."

"You helped me."

The Colonel stepped away from her. "You'll have these scars for the rest of your life."

"But that means these wounds will heal. I'm cursed with some that never will, Roy."

He hadn't heard her say his name in a long time.

"Riza."

That night, he stayed with her. He washed her wounds, and dressed them. Each time she flinched, he felt a pang of guilt. But whenever he stopped, she urged him to continue, as she always did. He wrapped her torso with bandages, circling her body over and over again. His fingers brushed her chest. The intimate contact was unsettling. After tearing her apart, it felt wrong to be stitching her back together.

"Thank you, Colonel."

"You're welcome, Lieutenant."

* * *

Lately I've been really fascinated with Roy and Riza's relationship. This was one of the most controversial parts of the show and I wanted to give my take on how things occurred. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Fresh Wounds

* * *

It was raining.

The raindrops tapped on her window, their eager fingers leaving long trails of water along the expanse of glass. The sound stirred Riza awake. Her wide amber eyes blink slowly, attempting to adjust to the small amount of light put off by the lamp. She forgot to turn it off again.

She laid there, buried beneath layers of white sheets and a deep blue blanket. To move meant instant pain, an irritation that began at her shoulder and festered all the way down to her lower back. There was no need to rush anyways; she did not work on Fridays.

"Work," she thought. "I haven't been to work. They must be wondering where I am."

The clock on her nightstand blinked 7:24 in bright red script. Sleep; she had been doing a lot of that lately. There wasn't much she could really do. One more week. Perhaps then she could move a little more freely; stretch without tearing, reach with ripping. The skin was so sensitive in this stage. That's what the doctor had said when he had visited her. He was employed by the military, familiar with Roy. She remembered how he gasped when he saw what was left of her backside, grunted as he worked to remove the dead skin and tissue.

"Six weeks, I assume. Most of it should be healed by then."

She blinked again.

Her hands pushed against the smooth material, lifting her body off the bed. The bandages tightened around her torso, then slackened as she slowly sat up. They needed changed. The Colonel stopped by two days ago and mended them. He held his breath as he did it, leaving her to fester in the silence as he wrapped her damaged physique.

It made her angry.

"Damn it," she whispered into the air.

She arose from the bed, leaving behind disheveled covers and a light layer of sweat. Drawn to the window, Riza pulled back the curtain and stared. The rain was constant, comforting. The Colonel hated the rain; it made him weak and useless. She smirked. If only he knew she felt that way now.

Her bathroom was nothing special. She liked it plain. The military proved to be unpredictable; what was the point of becoming comfortable when you could be relocated at any time? Riza kept things simple, a better word even, practical. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. It was a fleeting glance that she did not return to. Instead, her hands wandered up to the ties of her bandages. She pinched the fabric and tugged, loosening it so that it fell away. Round and round, till it fell down. They were messy, stained with her blood, sweat; no tears. She told herself no matter how much it hurt, she would not cry again. She left the dirty bandages on the ground.

One foot and then the other, she entered into the white cell and turned the knob. A small stream of water sputtered out of the head, the pressure picking up every few seconds or so. She did not dare turn and let it graze the wounds. Instead, she left it hit her face and run down the inlets of her neck and swells of her breasts, dipping and cascading over the soft exterior of her stomach. The heat made her skin tingle, and for a moment it was relieving. But she grew hot, drained even, and resorted to turning it left to the coolest setting.

"Yes," she muttered. "This feels better."

Her legs grew to be unsteady; Riza bent down and allowed herself the luxury of a seat. She brushed back her hair, soaking the short layers of blonde. The cold water soothed her head, numbed it really; and it seemed as though perhaps this was the only thing that could remedy her thinking.

"What are you doing?"

She wiped her eyes and stared up at him. The Colonel arrived in work attire, dress blues and unruly black hair. His mouth remained in a grim line. She thought he looked handsome, even more so when he smiled.

"I'm taking a shower, Sir."

"You're sitting there."

"I am, Sir."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You don't have to call me that."

"You're my superior."

"I'm also your friend."

Riza looked away and pulled her knees closer to her body. His presence was unannounced.

"You weren't supposed to come today, Colonel."

He reached in and twisted the knob, halting the flow that erupted out of the showerhead. "Cold water?"

She shrugged.

"Where are your towels?"

"Bottom shelf."

A long sigh escaped his lips. Roy bent down and grabbed one towel, and after a moment, another. Riza watched his every move like the hawk she was. The way his chest expanded after every inhale, and then deflated; he was breathing so hard. She sensed it; the tension.

He knelt down next her, his body only a few mere inches from her own. "Here, you must be freezing."

She took one from his arm and brought it to her chest. He rose and turned, allowing her a few brief seconds of privacy as she climbed to her own feet.

"Dry off and I'll do your bandages," he said, the friendly suggestion teetering on the edge of an order.

Riza nodded and he left her there, dripping wet. The towel was rough against her skin. She noted mentally that it would be a good idea to invest in new ones. She dragged the material down her navel and to her thighs; lastly, her legs. It felt good, to expose the wounds to the air. They were breathing, no longer confined to kissing the cotton of bandages. Peeking over her shoulder, she discovered the tip of one was seemingly visible. Intrigued, Riza turned her back to the mirror and stared—no, studied what was left.

A lot.

There was a significant amount of the transmutation array that remained on her flesh, but there were pieces missing; mangled. The important parts were burned to illegibility. Occasionally, her mind would wander back to those nights, when her father approached her to add more weight to the burden. Another phrase, another shape, another hour of her life donated to the research of flame alchemy. Those hours were gone now, along with her father, and pieces of his beloved legacy. All that remained was her, Riza Hawkeye, a free woman.

Well, almost free.

Almost.

Roy waited for her in the living room, his military jacket unbuttoned but not removed. He held her dressings in his hands, twisting them around his fingers. She sat down on the sofa and faced the wall, fingers resting comfortably on her thighs. Irritated, she reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Your hair is growing," he commented.

"I'm growing it out. I haven't had long hair since I was a little girl."

"You were a little girl?"

"At one time. You're still a little boy."

"Not everywhere, so I've been told."

It was evitable; the small smile that just grew on her face. He really was still a kid. They both were before the war; so naïve and tender. Ishval had changed that though. The extermination had exposed them to a harsh reality that existed and would never fade away. For the rest of their lives, they would carry the burden; all the way to the grave and the afterlife.

If there even was one.

"I believe you had a date tonight."

He placed the first strip of fabric against her back and pulled it taut. "I had other matters to attend to."

"Of course."

She didn't question his motives. Riza let him dress her injuries, assisting him when he needed her to pull the cloth around her torso. This time, his breaths were slow, shallow. He didn't hold them or bite his lip as he did it. As she met his hand during the passing of the gauze, her amber eyes fluttered up to his. In them, he held not pity and distress. They were filled with admiration, or was it something else? It was hard to read those eyes. It was like staring into a dark room, all you can see is black.

Round and round he went, asking ever so often if it was too tight. Riza assured him it was fine, and she laid her chin in her hand.

"There, all finished."

"Oh," Riza muttered, straightening her frame. "Thank you, Sir."

His hands lingered on the wrapping. He was languid in his movements, fingers tickled her shoulder blades as they meticulously travelled up to her bare shoulders. She flinched at the sudden contact, taken aback by how much she yearned for such a gentleness. But it wasn't right, she knew this to be true.

"Colonel," she whispered.

"What?"

"You shouldn't be—"

"Tell me to stop and I will."

But she couldn't. And when he pressed his lips against the base of her neck, Riza could hardly bring herself to take a breath.

To Roy, her body was ambrosial. He ached for it, physically of course, but there was another longing that brewed within him. He wanted to protect it, care for it. He desired her safety above all else.

He removed his mouth and placed his forehead against her skin, dark eyes coming to a subtle close.

"Finally," he thought. "It stopped raining."

* * *

A/N: I love this couple. I really hope I can churn out a longer piece about the two of them. I have an idea in the works. Thank you for reading. :)


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